I was talking to Clint last night about why I simply had to go shopping.  It wasn’t just that I wanted to go.  I had to go.  Being a man who is not so much into shopping, he questioned the need behind why I had to shop. 

“Well, I just read an article (again!) on the Mommy Wars.  Apparently I have been drafted.  I am a Mom.  I have mommyblogs.  So, I have to go shopping.”

He totally was not seeing the connection.

“If you go into battle you have to have the right equipment and the right uniform.  You can’t just march in looking like you came to battle unprepared.  So, I am thinking some bitchin’ high heel boots that are just high enough to shout ‘Power boots!’ but not so high they shout ‘How much per hour?’ And of course that would mean a new pair of pants.  I am thinking jeans, but they have to be the ones that make my butt look good.  You know, studies show that a woman who knows her butt looks good is 96% more likely to be successful.  Actually, I made that part up, but the pants, they must be able to make my butt look awesome.  And you know that means that I have to have a new shirt.  One that is comfortable, yet fashionable.  Sexy, yet practical.  I know the look I am going for but it may take time to find the right one.  You know what this means, right?”

I am greeted with a blank stare.

“Honey, that means I have to accessorize.  You can’t have a new outfit and not have the proper accessories.  You can’t send me into battle without the right gear.  This means a purse that can hold enough to defend myself ‘in the wars’, but not so big that I injure myself carrying it around.  A few bracelets.  Maybe a chunky necklace, too.  And sunglasses.  Sunglasses are a must to hide my eyes.  The enemy–not that I really know who that is–must not be able to see my eyes.”

Shaking his head as if he is trying to get water out of his ears, he looks at me and says, “So you are at war?  Who are you at war with?

“Oh, I have no idea, but the media and books and magazines tell me that there are Mommy Wars and apparently I am a part of it because I am a mommy.”

“That makes no sense, “ he tells me.

“Well, duh!  I know it makes no sense.  But I have been drafted and must be dressed for battle.”

“And that includes high healed boots?”

(Sometimes they just don’t get it!) “Yes, it means boots…and all the rest.  I’m off to the mall to equip myself.”

“Honey, you work from home.  Most days you stay in your pajamas all day.”

“Good point,” I ponder.  “I better get new pajamas, too. A couple of pairs.  Maybe new slippers. Thanks, sweetie.”

Off to battle.  (Can someone just tell me that if there actually are mommywars…who exactly is the enemy here? You see, no mom I have spoken to is my enemy.  I am confused, but I will be well dressed for battle either way.)

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